


Dinner for One, and How to Enjoy Dessert

by jazzypizzaz



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Baseball, Cake, Cooking, Familial Love, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, Making Out, Not Canon Compliant, Platonic Love, Self Love (no not that kind), a touch of Romantic/Sexual Love, flirtation, love of life and love of exploration, unlikely friendship, we are ignoring canon timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29312517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: “It's not me I'm worried about. It's you.”“Me?”“If I go, you'll be all alone.”“Oh, I appreciate you thinking about me, Jake, but please don't turn down this opportunity on my account. I'll have plenty of people to keep me company. I can always eat dinner with Dax, or Doctor Bashir, or even Quark.“-- Jake and Ben Sisko in ”Explorers,” season 3 episode 22Jake decides to accept the writing fellowship in New Zealand after all, leaving Ben with an empty nest. Grumpy about this situation and trying not to show it, Ben can’t stand anyone’s company, except (Prophets help him) for Quark.
Relationships: Benjamin Sisko & Jake Sisko, Quark & Benjamin Sisko, Quark/Benjamin Sisko
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22
Collections: Star Trek Valentine's Bang 2021





	Dinner for One, and How to Enjoy Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I started several years ago for [Trek Rare Pair Swap](https://trek-rarepair-swap.tumblr.com/post/164536532279), and now finally finished for the Valentine's Big Bang, with the idea that it's celebrating a variety of types of ~love~
> 
> Many thanks to Monsterfisken -- my main worry for this bang was that there wouldn't be an artist interested in (or even not repelled by) this ship, so your art and enthusiasm was essential! much appreciated! Thank you also to Sasa_Q for beta-ing.

link for the art!

The airlock closes with a faint hiss behind the two boys. Two _men_ , technically, though Ben will never get used to that. Their laughter and cheery goodbyes from seconds before still ring through the air.

And just like that, the situation becomes concrete in a way it hadn’t been before. No longer a hypothetical future, but reality.

Jake -- his baby boy, his only son, this child who Ben could have sworn only learned to hit a baseball for the first time last week -- just left with Nog on a ship headed to Earth. Nog will be attending Starfleet Academy, based on Ben’s sponsorship. Jake, to Ben’s great pride, will be on his eager way to Pennington School in New Zealand for a writing fellowship.

Ben, of course, will remain on the fringes of the Quadrant to run Deep Space Nine, far from Earth.

When was the last time Jake had been more than a quick jump of a runabout away? Had they ever gone more than a week without cooking and eating dinner together, as a family?

(They had: the two weeks after Jennifer’s death. Ben hadn’t felt like cooking then. But he had still been able to see his child’s face every day during that dark time, able to ensure that he was safe and healthy and _alive_ , if sadder than a twelve year old should be.)

Ben attempts to shake himself loose from these thoughts. This event should be a cause for celebration. In this moment, however, despite his pride in his son, Ben doesn’t quite feel like celebrating.

Confetti and streamers litter the ground, a special allowance from Odo for the occasion, and the station’s cleaning bots whiz and whirl to clean them up. Dax claps Ben on the shoulder with a knowing smile and heads back to her station. Ben looks around at the small crowd that came to send the boys off, now all dispersing save for a notable few.

Off to the side is Nog’s family, also lingering. Quark has his face twisted into a truly sour scowl as he stares at the closed airlock door. It’s a similar expression as when a big gambler gets on a winning streak in dabo at his bar, except that his eyes are scrunched, eyelids blinking in a frantic attempt to hold back a flood of moisture threatening to spill.

Ben frowns.

Maybe Quark is tallying up the lost profit from a “family discount” employee.

A loud piercing shriek startles Ben from this consideration. Rom wails with great echoing sobs -- something about how he remembers Nog’s first set of lobes -- until Leeta scoops him up. He cries into her chest as she rubs his back, his blubbering now thankfully muffled.

Ben winces -- both at the noise and the awkward display of emotion -- and rubs his aching ear. He catches eye contact with Quark by accident. Ben immediately drops his hand from his ear. Instead of the expected lewd remark or raised eyeridge, Quark gives a great heaving sigh, rolls his eyes at Ben, and walks over to Rom.

“There, there,” Quark says, with no small amount of mockery, as he pats Rom’s back a couple times. “Think of it this way! No more dead weight dependents cutting into your paltry Bajoran militia stipend.”

Rom sobs louder, yelling incomprehensibly about Nog. Leeta clutches Rom tighter with an angry scowl of her own and whines at Quark. Quark backs off, hands raised in a sarcastic surrender. He wiggles his head side to side as he snipes at her under his breath.

Then Quark stands there for a moment, glancing between the airlock door and his brother and dabo girl in front of them, a most peculiar look on his face.

Ben watches, perplexed, and then he realizes --

Both the door and the embrace are closing Quark out. Quark’s shoulders sag with weariness, a flash of stark vulnerability across his face.

Quark looks as lost as Ben feels.

Then the look is gone, almost as quick as it appeared. Quark straightens up, peeved upon noticing Ben’s continued attention.

“What, you’ve never seen a grown man cry before?” Quark says, gesturing towards Rom. “And here I thought you Federation-types were in touch with your emotions and all that other squishy stuff.”

Off of Ben’s raised eyebrow, Quark huffs and stalks off grumbling under his breath.

Ben frowns, and tries not to count down the hours until his holocall with Jake.

\-----

“Morning, captain, how are you today?” Dax greets Ben, scrolling through station data. More staff filter in for their morning duties in Ops.

“Oh fine, ready to get a start on the day.” Ben had automatically whipped up two plates of pancakes this morning for breakfast, before realizing he was alone in the quarters. “How are those subspace calibrations coming along?”

“Good good, they’ll be all ready by the time the Skreean delegation arrives this afternoon.” Dax doesn’t looking up from her work as they converse, but there’s a careful lightness to her voice as she asks, “Any word from Jake on how he’s settling in?”

“Not until tomorrow evening, but I’m sure everything’s fine. You know how he gets with space travel. We scheduled our first call to allow for adjustment to Earth clock, and if he doesn’t check in before that, it just means he’s sleeping off the space lag.” Ben has been repeating this to himself all morning, so it tumbles out sounding rehearsed.

Dax glances up from the data. “No news is good news, is that it? Sounds like you’re establishing healthy boundaries already.”

“That’s right,” Ben says, punctuating the statement a little more than necessary. Dax quirks an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn’t follow up.

“What’s that, Jake’s making boundaries?” Kira bustles in, a little bleary-eyed as she sips her first raktajino of the day. “You’d think the distance between you would be a boundary enough.”

“All I said is that we’re going to talk later. No big deal. Now about the security arrangements for --”

“Oh, you spoke to Jake already?” Chief O’Brien glances up from the console he’s been waist-deep in since before Ben arrived. “Tell him Molly misses him. Well, that she _will_ miss him when she realizes that ‘gone’ means he can’t travel from Earth to babysit her.”

“I’ll tell him, and I’m sure he will miss her too. Now Chief did you set up --”

“Of course,” O’Brien sets down his spanner, smirking off into the distance, “she won’t miss him as much as Vilix’pran does.”

Dax laughs. “I bet!”

“I like being a parent, but ten hatchlings, bloody hell. And to think that sometimes I can’t wait until Molly is old enough to be off on her own, with her own life and goals...”

“Chief, does this have anything to do with climate controls for the deck eight?” Ben interjects, feeling increasingly irritated for no good reason.

“That’s how you know you succeeded as a parent isn’t it?” Jadzia smiles wistfully. “When they don’t need you anymore.”

Kira laughs. “I don’t know about that. I could find food, kill Cardassians, and survive just fine on my own as a kid. And I wouldn’t call my parents a success.”

“I guess we always need our parents in some way, and as parents we always kind of need our kids too,” Dax muses. “How about you, Captain?”

“How about me, _what_?” Ben says.

“Jake’s across the Quadrant, giving it the ole college try without you, and you’re here without him… Must be strange.” Dax whistles. “I remember my Academy days, several times over -- the amount of trouble that Curzon got up to, boy was he glad his parents were too far away to check up on him…”

“Does any of this have anything to do with the arrival of the delegation, or is the order of the day to rub in my face that my son isn’t here?” Ben bites off with exasperation. His three staff members jerk their heads in surprise; it came out more sharply than he intended.

A short pause, and then Kira is the first to answer, all business: “Security and diplomatic assignments are finalized. We shouldn’t have the problems we had last time. For one, unlike last time there won’t be any kids --” She clears her throat. “It will only be adults. Scientists and a few administrators, some merchants. They've fully settled on their relocation planet since we met.”

Dax and O’Brien chime in with their updates as well. They all wait expectantly for Sisko’s response.

“Great, that’s good to hear,” Sisko says. The air is still a bit tense, and Sisko has always believed that as captain it’s his job to set the tone for crew morale. His own current mood has nothing to do with the excellent work they’re doing. He takes a deep breath and smiles. “Make sure you follow through with the remaining items we discussed at the last briefing. Remember, now Jake is off on his new adventure, in his absence it’s up to us to hold down the fort.” He winks.

At that Dax smiles, nods, and heads back to her station, as does O’Brien, recognizing that as an apology for his curtness.

“Aye aye, captain.” Kira gives a jaunty salute.

\---

It’s late evening by the time Ben’s able to catch a breath. Unwinding at home, he puts on an album of the obscure Klingon opera singer Kor’tang performing various classics. Dax had been bugging him to listen to it for weeks, so she’d have someone to talk about it with. Ben likes Klingons and their opera okay, but he sincerely hopes an aficionado for their more niche cultural practices joins the station soon, so Dax has someone else to share her interest. He’s never quite in the right mood after hours for the passionate bellowing and caterwauling the operas tend to entail.

Ben’s humming along to Kor’tang bemoaning the loss of his parma’chai to the brutal winds of war, when he realizes that despite what he told Jake, he was hoping for a call from him tonight anyway.

No new messages.

 _No news is good news,_ Ben repeats to himself _._

A thousand anxieties flash through his mind ranging from trivial (what if Jake doesn’t like the dining hall replicators?) to extreme (what if the Borg, despite all indication that they’ve currently been subdued, attack Earth tomorrow?). It doesn’t seem real that Jake used to fit in the crook of Ben’s arm, yet now he’s a man off to start his own life.

Ben itches to tell the computer to dial Jake up, to see that his boy is healthy and safe and misses his father’s cooking a proper amount, but refrains. _Remember when you first arrived on DS9 and switched to the 26-hour day? There wasn’t even much of a time change! But for a week after, you’d catch Jake napping in the middle of the day, reading under his covers at night, asking for breakfast at dinner... Of course, with Jennifer gone, you’ve always given him the slack he needs to adjust._

Ben sighs at his empty quarters. If Jennifer were here, they could revel in the extra date nights and room to themselves. If Jennifer were here, he’d have someone else in this with him. If Jennifer were here, maybe she’d know how he’s supposed to be there for Jake while also giving him his space. If Jennifer were here…

He stops those thoughts in their tracks. He’s had the practice.

After Wolf 359, he got into the habit of redirecting the energy of wallowing into more constructive endeavors. Otherwise, he’d run the risk of getting trapped in feedback loops of running over the same thoughts in his mind, the same “what if’s” and “why her’s”. The pressure of the emotions off-gassed from this would build and build, until like a canister of superheated kevron fluid they leaked to disastrous effect. He ended up cutting his round of therapy short of Starfleet recommendations, but this reroute technique at least had stuck.

He recognizes the warning signs now. The void from not dwelling on those thoughts leaves him with an itching sensation prickling at his edges. A restlessness and a scattered focus. This is about the point at which he should be hyperfocusing on, for example, building a Bajoran lightship, or tinkering with an elaborate clock-piece, or memorizing baseball trivia. A project that will consume him in a world outside himself, leaving little room for destructive existential crises.

Nothing he can think of sounds appealing though. He makes a pass at Vedek Sira’s _Prophecy Through the Ages_ \-- an ongoing project he has in order to understand Bajor and his role as Emissary better -- but it doesn’t hold his attention.

 _This is stupid_ , he thinks, but as Solok at the Academy was always telling him, emotions aren’t by nature rational. If he really wanted to, he could hop on a shuttlecraft and visit Jake within a couple days. He could touch his face, see him present and breathing, hug him hard.

This isn’t like Jennifer dying or shouldn’t be; he hasn’t lost Jake, so there’s no reason to feel this way. There’s no reason for him to feel anything but pride in his son.

Ben lets Kor’tang’s surprisingly poignant war arias wash over him for a while, immersing himself in the Battle of Ch’Rana on Qo’noS, far, far away from either DS9 or Earth, and then goes to bed.

\---

The next day is a flurry of activity. It always is as captain of a space station at the crux of multiple quadrants, several galactic superpowers, and any number of smaller communities caught in crosshairs. Sisko sometimes has a vague nostalgia for his days as an ensign: same amount of activity, but far less responsibility weighing on his shoulders.

Today however, he’s grateful for the distraction.

Finally, _finally_ , evening comes. Ben hums as he pulls out some fresh peppers to chop for dinner. Only an hour before he and Jake are scheduled to talk. It should be enough time to make a decent etouffee, but he’s barely able to pull out his knives when the computer chimes:

“One new message.”

Ben double-checks the chronometer before responding. “Who is it from?”

“Recorded message from Jake Sisko, Pennington School, Earth.”

Ben frowns. Their call was supposed to be live. “Play message.”

 _“Hey dad!”_ Jake’s face lights up the screen, that big easy smile of his reassuring Ben instantly. _“Made it here in one piece, see?” Jake backs up so that his whole body is in view and spins to prove his point. “So you gotta promise me you’ll stop worrying_.”

Ben smiles and rests his chin in his hand as he watches.

_“Sorry to miss our call but -- hey!” Jake laughs as the screen is eclipsed by a swath of blue and pink and silver._

_“But he’s mine now mwahaha!” The blue-ish blur resolves into the face of a Benzite, metal breathing apparatus sparkling under the teen’s impish grin. “Your son has been kidnapped!”_

_“Shh, this is important,” Jake says, playfully pushing the other kid half out of view. He rolls his eyes for the camera, but it’s obvious he’s holding back laughter. “Sorry, that’s Yolo, my new roommate. They’re a second year, and they think they know_ everything! _” He directs the last bit off camera, with emphasis._

 _“I do in fact, and much obliged to meet you Elder Sisko. Let it be known that I’m happy to guide your young sprog in the most esteemed and decidedly_ unofficial _college traditions of hiking and--”_

_“Hey the more you interrupt the longer this will take!”_

_Yolo continues as if Jake hadn’t said anything, “-- like a shepherd does for their sheep, as they roll roll roll them gently down the kiwi hills --”_

_“You were the one complaining we were going to be late. Pack the shakbok wraps and I’ll catch up to you at the Yard okay?”_

_There’s some shuffling and noise interference, as Jake shoes his roommate out the door, elbowing the camera in the process. It’s a couple minutes later before Jake comes back and readjusts._

_“So sorry dad. Theater majors,” Jake says with exasperation. “As you can tell, I’ve found a friend already, and I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together. Classes don’t start for a couple days, so don’t worry. Yolo’s not a bad influence or anything. I won’t be having_ too _much fun.” Chuckle. “Anyway, sorry to cut this short but I figured I’d at least check in to tell you that I’m doing good. Bye, love you!”_

_Jake gives a hearty wave goodbye, and the message ends._

Ben is still smiling fondly when his son’s happy face freezes mid-wave on the screen. He double-checks that that’s the entire message and shakes his head.

“Not even a full conversation for your old man?” Ben mumbles. But he pulls himself together, rolling his shoulders a couple times so his son will see him relaxed. “Computer, start recording response.” He makes sure to smile wide.

“Hey there Jake-o! Glad to see you’ve settled in so quickly! Of course I trust your judgement in who you make friends with and how you spend your time. I’m so proud of--” Ben clears the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m proud of you, the way you are becoming your own man, out in the world without me looking over your shoulder. Here you are talking about shakbok and yards and theater majors, and it’s already like you’re speaking a different language! Enjoy those new experiences, but take pity and try not to become unrecognizable to your own dad.”

He smiles and winks. “Anytime you want to send me a message go right ahead, I’m always here for you even if our schedules don’t line up. Remember you can visit Grandpa if you get homesick -- you’ll be doing me a favor, cut down on him complaining to me about how he never gets to see his own family. You know how he gets. Everything’s good here back on the station, just how you left it, plus one alien delegation and minus one Jake. I’ve got an etouffee that won’t cook itself now, so don’t be a stranger! I love you, my son.”

Ben shuts off the holorecording. The smile fades from his face. He wonders when Jake will view the message -- when he gets back from his hike? Or will his new friend have more activities planned after that? Maybe tomorrow morning then.

 _It’s part of growing up_ , Ben reminds himself, _figuring who you are away from your nest._ One could argue it’s analogous to why humanity founded Starfleet -- the need to explore, test boundaries, prove to yourself what you can do away from the comfort of home.

Maybe Jake’s not the only one who needs to stretch his wings.

Ben glances at the uncut vegetables on the counter and realizes he got out enough ingredients for two people again without thinking about it.

He goes through the motions of chopping and sauteing, but his heart’s not in it, and he can taste the difference.

Cooking is meant to be shared.

\---

“Hey Dad! Sorry to miss our call again -- there was an Andorian drum circle in the commons, and I got caught up in the rhythm. Let’s say I’m not planning to be a professional musician anytime soon, but it sure was fun…”

“Hi Dad! I meant to send a message yesterday, but I stayed up all night chatting with new friends. I got some great ideas from Challa for my upcoming character study class. She's really into the post-info pseudo-memeism movement, which is nuts in my opinion, but…”

“These asynchronous calls are working out okay for you right? Yolo says part of being an artist is spontaneity and I don’t want to miss out on anything going on here, but it does make it hard to plan around space station schedules…”

“Hey Dad, all you’ve talked about is work. Skreeans this, Bajor that. You promised you wouldn’t be lonely without me, remember? I didn’t think I had a liar for a dad…”

\---

Ben throws himself into work without realizing what he’s doing.

(Every morning Ben wakes to the empty space in his bed where Jennifer should be, in another, better reality, and now every evening he comes home to an empty living room. If he’s unconsciously limiting his time there, well, that’s better than wallowing in the emptiness, alone.)

After all, there’s always more to be done, always a backlog of projects and initiatives and complaints to address. So if Ben has the energy to tackle all of them at once, to spend each day working well into the evening, to eat replicator food for dinner rather than cook alone -- well, Ben can’t see a reason for anyone to complain.

It’s not until Jake calls Ben a liar from sectors away, not until Jake sees straight through Ben’s cheery energetic facade like its Tholian gauze, that Ben is brought back down to Earth. So to speak.

That boy was always too smart for his own good.

There used to be a time when other people were the ones making up excuses to avoid Ben’s baseball enthusiasm. Now it’s Ben who has to overcome a strange reluctance in order to invite some staff -- no, some _friends_ \-- to play ball with him.

(He wonders if Jake has introduced any of his new friends to baseball, or if he’s too busy with everything else. Ben makes a note to ask Jake during his next message, remind him of baseball’s meditative qualities and how that can help balance a hectic life. It’s one of far too many mental notes he makes throughout the day, all of which won’t fit in one short message. If Jake doesn’t keep up his skill, Ben’ll be able to wipe the plate with him when they play next… Which will be when exactly? What if Jake loses interest in the great sport of baseball? What if this means he’s lost interest in hanging out with his dad? What if… No. No “what if’s”.)

Quark slumps partway over the bar, his bulbous head propped up by his hands. He’s scowling in the general direction of Rom and Leeta as they take turns kissing each other’s cheeks and feeding each other forkfuls of hasperat. He straightens up as Ben approaches.

“Data rod for my holosuite reservation this evening, please,” Ben says.

“What’ll it be this time?” Quark glides into customer service mode. “I have a new Queen of Rixx program --” He drops his voice. “-- in a bathhouse. Very tasteful, great aesthetics if you know what I mean. Plus the developer promised me 10% commission.”

Ben grimaces. “No, the baseball program that I specified on my reservation.”

“Baseball, baseball, Bajoran ruins, Klingon calisthenics, baseball.” Quark rolls his eyes, flipping through the data rods. “That’s all you ever do. Everyone else here has at least one juicy pleasure program they like. Even Major Kira tags along with Jadzia to all sorts of --”

“I don’t need to know about my staff’s --” Ben searches for an appropriate euphemism. “--recreational habits, Quark. The program?”

“Sure.” Quark makes to put the rod in Ben’s outstretched hand, but before contact pulls it back with a sly grin. “ _If_ you can tell me how you’re releasing sexual energy these days, as a single man. Holovids in your quarters? Or are you one of those freaks that prefer the written word? See, I’m always looking to expand my offerings to satisfy my clientele’s needs --”

“All I want is to play baseball.” Ben enunciates each word for emphasis.

“What is it for you about that hewmon sport? The tight pants the players wear? The hats?” Quark scratches his cheek with the data rod as he gets distracted by this line of inquiry. “Or is it the pinstripes? I don’t do hats, but I do wear a lot of stripes and tight pants. Is that what does it for you? Sexually, I mean.”

“Perhaps the reservation is off then. I have reports to finish anyway...” Ben rubs his face with his hand in frustration, but truth be told at the thought of cancelling he feels immediate relief. Although as soon as he’s back alone in his quarters, the restlessness will return, he knows.

“No need to be drastic.” Quark frowns and hands over the data rod without further question. “I had to hire three people to take Nog’s place when he left, at double the wages mind you, so now I’ve got to find new profit streams to compensate. Which is all your fault, writing his recommendation letter, so really -- you owe me.”

“All that tells me is that Nog would have left for better profit elsewhere eventually anyway.”

“But in Starfleet he won’t make _any_ profit!” Quark splutters. “And more importantly, neither will I!”

“The field calls, Quark.” Ben walks away to join his baseball buddies, who wave to him from the second level.

\---

“As your doctor, Miles,” Dr. Bashir says, the three of them standing outside the holosuite doors, “I implore you to be careful not to throw out your shoulder tonight. I’ll likely be sending quite a few hits your way, but trying to prevent a few extra points is not worth --”

“Hah! Is that right?” Chief O’Brien snorts. “Don’t you forget who won our last racquetball match. If you think that sloppy backhand will help you hit a baseball, then you’re in for a rude surprise --”

“No matter, it’s an entirely different set of secondary muscles I’ll be engaging with my swing. As an expert in sports medicine and human anatomy --”

And so on and so on. It’s the same banter after every play they go through. Bashir posturing, O’Brien countering, and neither of them for all their talk having any idea how to play baseball at all.

If Jake were here, he could correct Bashir’s gangly unbalanced stance. If Jake were here, he could run after their wild fly balls with a smile and a good attitude. If Jake were here, Ben would have an ally, one other person that knew the game and who knew what he was talking about when he referenced Buck Bokai’s third season streak or what a lucky ball is or the 2068 World Series.

This was exactly the type of quiet evening he would spend with Jake playing catch. Even if these two amateurs had joined them, at least Ben would have someone around with some maturity about the game.

If Ben’s own kid were here, maybe these two grown men wouldn’t act like such children.

“Am I going to have to put up with you two bickering the whole time, or are we going to play ball?” Ben snaps out, irritation flaring out despite his restraint so far.

Both Bashir and O’Brien shut up immediately, like two schoolchildren scolded by their teacher. As their captain, Ben supposes that reaction isn’t so far off, and he regrets snapping. They’re not on duty. This is supposed to be fun.

“Yes, sorry Captain,” O’Brien says, chagrined.

“At ease, Chief.” Ben frowns and rubs his face. “I’m not here as your commanding officer, the plan was to relax. As you may have noticed, I haven’t been myself lately--”

“No matter, Captain,” Bashir says, saccharine with understanding. Ben winces. “We know you’re dealing with a textbook case of empty nest syndrome -- perfectly natural for you to be feeling the stress of such changes in your environment. I’m not a father myself, or not to my knowledge in any case, but Miles here will be able to commiserate...”

Bashir elbows O’Brien, who has been staring at him with a look of faint alarm. He manages to mumble out, “I -- well, Molly’s only six of course, but I -- I can imagine how -- upset I’ll be, when she, uh, she moves out some day --”

 _Bee-deep!_ Ben’s communicator badge chimes, and O’Brien, with profound relief, halts his awkward attempt at comfort. Ben breaths out a gracious sigh of his own. “Sisko here, what is it?”

“It’s Kira. Captain, I have a question about --”

“Are you in Ops? I’ll be right there.”

“There’s no need, I only had a quick question about whether --”

“See you soon Major. Sisko out.” Ben taps the badge off. “You two go ahead without me. Some other time.”

Ben hurries down the stairs before they have a chance to react. He’s still prickling with unfounded irritation, which only intensifies with the guilt he feels about this. They were only trying to be friendly, and since when doesn’t Ben jump at the chance to teach someone his favorite sport?

As Ben strides through the bar, the sound of clapping stops him.

“Good thinking. I don’t blame you for making an excuse to get out of holosuite time with _those two_ , striped pants or not,” Quark says from behind the counter, looking amused. “Here I thought, how strange, Captain Sisko joining those two fleabrains for a…” He slides a finger from one hand in between two fingers from the other, raising his eyeridge with meaning. “Threeway accounts merger.”

“Quark,” Ben growls as he grasps on to Quark’s innuendo.

“Not that you were lying to them, I get it I get it. The type of ball playing those two get up to...’” Quark waggles his brow at Ben. “You hewmons have a saying about rounding the bases, right? First is lips, then tongues -- disgusting though surprisingly fun -- not sure what third is, but I would _hope_ there’s oo-mox at some point, then fourth --”

“There’s no fourth, it’s called home,” Ben says. Then he shakes his head. “Never mind that, it’s only ever just baseball.”

“Pity. Well, I’ll find out what you like eventually.” Quark tilts his head side to side as if considering something, then smirks. “If do ever decide you want to experiment and try out fantasies of a less hewmon variety, then I’m your man...In more ways than one…”

“ _Mind your own damn business_ ,” Ben snaps. No part of this evening has been relaxing, and he’s had it -- at least Quark isn’t his employee, and, as someone who apparently keeps track of his clients’ porn preferences, not a person Ben feels inclined to act professionally towards. Ben’s irritation bubbles over, needs an outlet somewhere.

Quark isn’t phased at all, in fact at this he looks positively titillated at Ben’s reaction.

“Well you know where to find me when you need to release all that tension,” Quark says with a wink. “Your friendly, local businessman.”

And Ben, instead of guilt for letting his irritation slip yet again, feels a lightness. A rush of relief.

“I will,” Ben says, almost sincerely.

Quark does a double-take.

\---

“Jake-o! What I wouldn’t give for one person on this station who can pitch. The holoprogram never quite gets it right, doesn’t it? Miss you…”

“Hey Jake -- I appreciate your concern about my dating life, but I’m not meeting with some random freighter captain you met once. I don’t need my teenage son to play matchmaker for me from across the quadrant…”

“Jake-o, hello my son, no no don’t worry about me, honest. The station’s a bit duller without you around, but I’m doing just fine, really…”

\---

Ben’s back hits the floor with a whack, the air pushed out from his lungs all at once. He grins, then grabs at the warrior on top of him. He’s able to throw her off, but she recovers quickly. They both go for each others’ torsos, in a strange bear hug, digging their knees into the carpet and trying to throw the other off balance.

“Remember,” Dax grunts, her arm straining into his back as she pushes at him. “You owe me five strips of latinum when I win.”

“Big talk, for an old man,” Ben says, grinning. He twists so that he is arched over top of her, both still kneeling, and grapples to try to solidify the hold.

“This old man isn’t the one -- beating up a friend -- instead of phoning his kid -- when he knows -- he’ll lose,” Dax says, as they wrestle. Ben hesitates, just for a second, which allows her to twist underneath him. In a flash she flips him around so that he’s face first into the carpet. Pinned. “ _Hah!_ ”

“Alright, alright, you got me,” Ben huffs. She releases him. They sit back against the couch in Ben’s quarters, heaving and sweating.

“I’m serious,” Dax says, catching her breath. “I know we have these weekly wrestling matches, but don’t feel bad if this is the only time you and Jake are free at the same time. You can cancel on me.”

Ben frowns and lifts himself up -- stiffly, ouch his aching muscles. “He cancelled.” Again. “Something about a Tellerite Festival of Insults, said it was going to help him write conflict better.”

“Aww, Ben, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. That’s what he’s there for, to get these kinds of experiences. Can’t have _his_ old man holding him back.” Ben grins, trying to lighten the mood, but judging by Dax’s face he doesn’t quite succeed.

She pouts, then sprawls out on the floor to stretch. “I know how tough it is when kids don’t have time for you anymore.”

Ben winces and turns to order from the replicator, so she doesn’t see his face. There’s that itching sensation rising up in him again, and suddenly he wants nothing more than for her to leave. Restless when he’s alone, and moody when he has company, boy is he coping with this in a healthy and manageable way.

After retrieving ice waters from the replicator, he says, “That’s not how it is, I’m fine.”

“Hey, you don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me. I understand, I’ve been a father. And a mother. Audrid -- I think I’ve told you this before -- but she had a rift with her daughter --”

“And they didn’t speak for decades after that. Yes, I know,” Ben says, gritting his teeth. “That’s an entirely different situation. And I don’t _have_ feelings I’m not dealing with.”

His rising volume implies otherwise and Dax doesn’t buy it. Over the next quarter hour she switches between reminiscing about her previous children and giving unhelpful advice. Ben tries his best to change the topic, but she’s as stubborn as he is sometimes, and finally he can’t take it anymore.

“This has been very helpful, thanks old man,” Ben says, trying to sound sincere. “But I just remembered I was supposed to follow up with Dr Bashir about medical equipment for Draylon II.”

“At this time of night? But --”

“The Skreeans have a different approach to medical knowledge than the Federation, so there’s a lot of calibrations to iron out. I’d better take care of it. Good night,” Ben says, nodding like Dax had agreed with him, then heads out the door before she can respond.

This is a new low among the numerous times Ben has found himself making excuses to leave social situations, when the conversation turns to Jake. Not only is Bashir more than capable of adjusting the equipment without Sisko’s oversight -- making his excuse not even a half-truth but an outright _lie_ \-- but Dax knows that.

Halfway down the corridor, Ben realizes he has nowhere in particular to go, except away from his quarters to at least pretend he had business elsewhere. He heads towards the infirmary anyway, with plans to veer off before he arrives.

It’s a nice night for a walk, he tells himself.

\---

Camped out at a table in the back of the Replimat, Ben now has had about two refreshing lissa juices more than he needed for electrolyte replenishment, just to kill time. He’s still rankled over Dax’s attempts at advice. He has a lot of respect for her opinion and experiences, he does, but lately none of it seems applicable and much of it feels patronizing. Probably about time he heads to bed, but he lingers as he knows he’s too worked up to be able to rest yet.

He’s pretending to read a PADD (the Vedek’s history tome again) to ward off casual conversation, when a particular bartender wanders up.

“Well,” Quark says, dragging out the word in a vaguely lewd manner as only he can. Ben can feel Quark’s eyes flit over him in his athletic gear, as if Ben’s old, sweaty Academy shirt and shorts are even remotely attractive.

Ben doesn’t look up for a few moments, feinting deep concentration, but Quark doesn’t leave.

“Don’t you have a bar to run at this time of night? Are you sure Broik can handle the till for a few minutes without your margins dipping into the red?” Ben says.

“I’m flattered!” Quark slaps his hand to his chest. “You do pay attention to the troubles of local business owners.”

“Hmph,” Ben says noncommittally, returning his eyes to the PADD. Something about a prophecy involving katterpod yields several hundred years ago. The words swim in front of him, unfocused.

Quark sits down in the seat across from Ben as if invited. “The bar will be fine by itself for a few minutes.”

“Uh huh,” Ben grunts. Followed by pointed silence.

“You and me both.” Quark lets out an affected sigh. He taps his fingers, side-eying Ben as if to dare him to ask what’s wrong. “The bar’s fine without me, truth be told. Rom’s off with his pals from _engineering--_ ” Quark manages to make that word sound like an insult. “--and Nog’s on Earth of all the frinxing profitless places. And look at you! So sure, everything’s _fine_.”

Ben should have at least pulled up a duty roster or something he could pretend was a pressing matter, but it seems even more disingenuous at this point to do that. He sighs and puts the PADD down. “What do you mean 'look at you'?"

“What I’m saying is, we’re the same. Your son left you, my family thinks they don’t need me... But I know better.”

“No, we’re not the same, and I’m busy right now,” Ben says sharply. “What do you want from me? How can the captain of this entire space station personally address your petty sorrows?”

“You should have comment cards for people to fill out. People might feel less inclined to bother you at the replicator if they had another outlet for their station concerns.”

“I do, it’s called an inbox. And _office hours_.”

Quark waves a dismissive hand. “It’s not that kind of problem. Can’t a guy just make friendly conversation without having an ulterior motive?”

“Sure, sure,” Ben says. The corner of his lip twitches with amusement despite himself. “But not you.”

Quark grins wide and pointy, latching on to the slightest bit of encouragement from Ben. “True. Like I said, you _do_ pay attention to me. And, as the President of the Promenade Merchants' Association, I pay attention to you too.” Quark pats down several pockets inside his jacket, before pulling a Ferengi accounting device from his waistcoat for reference. “Your purchases at my establishment are _way_ down. Not one dinner _or_ drink this week --”

“I had a hot dog before baseball a couple days ago. Plus, the holosuite rental cost latinum.”

“Hot dogs are hardly a meal, and, if you let me finish, your holosuite rentals are down by thirty percent. As leader of this station _and_ Emissary of Bajor, it’s up to you to set a good example!”

“And being a good leader means handing over money to you?” Ben smirks, enjoying this back-and-forth, to his surprise. He sits back in his chair.

Quark waggles a finger at him. “Which means supporting local businesses. What you do, other people follow! Mark my words, your depression will affect my bottom line.”

“I’m not depressed.” Ben’s amusement evaporates like that.

“There, there. Denial is the first stage.” Quark pats Ben’s hand with saccharine sympathy.

Ben pulls it back with a scowl. “I appreciate your concern about my mental health, but --”

“My concern is for my pocketbook,” Quark corrects.

“Of course.”

“A concern on which I get no support from those who are supposed to care. It’s all up to me and me alone. No thanks to my brother or my nephew or even the depressed station captain.”

“I’m. _Fine_.” Ben bites off each word individually to emphasize just how fine he really is. “A few changes in habit are no cause for red alert.”

“Let’s make a deal. If you’re so fine, spend at least fifteen strips by the end of the week, or I’m recommending you to Dr. Bashir for counselling.”

“Oh really. And does he often take medical referrals from you?”

“There’s a long, historied overlap between bartenders and counsellors. We both have the listening ear; it’s only the prescriptions that differ.”

“I’m sure. Thank you--” Ben imbues this with as much sarcasm as he can. “--for bringing this to my immediate attention, and good night to you.” Ben nods to Quark as he rises from the table to leave.

Ben walks past Quark, then hesitates. Stops. He turns around to address him again. “Just because Rom and Nog moved on from the bar doesn’t mean they’ve moved on from you. You might have tried your damnedest to hold them back, but deep, deep down I’m sure they know it’s because you care.”

“And I’m sure when Jake graduates, he’ll move back into your quarters, and you’ll cook gunk-bo and play baseball together every night just like old times,” Quark snipes. “I take it back, we’re not the same, because at least I’m not living in a fantasy world.”

“It’s called gumbo. And they do care about you, Quark. You’re family.”

Quark scowls back for a long moment. Ben’s heart pains at the way Quark’s words cut through him -- things never will be the same again, and for Jake’s sake he shouldn’t want them to be -- but he doesn’t take the bait.

Finally Quark blinks a couple times and looks away. “Fifteen strips on good wholesome fun at the bar, or I’m calling Bashir, understood?”

Ben walks home feeling lighter than he has all week.

\---

_“...battles fall and fail, and there is a time of waiting, the space between breaths as the land heals and its children retire from war. The Temple thrice rebuilt will welcome many home, the faithful and the Chosen…”_

_“...The welcomed Herald shares a new understanding with all the land's children. The Temple shall be set half a moon from the tallest plains, under the open eye, and its resurrection will arise from elements gathered from sea to mountain, from ground to star…”_

_...These prophecies date from 30,000 BC [Federation standard conversion] as part of the Ohalu Prophecies. While many descriptions of the composition and placement of the Temple pop up throughout these prophecies, many scholars believe its foretold “resurrection” is yet to come. There are conflicting theories as to which existing ruins may be the future site. As the Vedek currently tasked with overseeing the Ohalu holy texts, I have written this book to..._

\---

Alarms blare in the corridor as Ben rounds the corner of the residence deck. He breaks out into a jog towards the source, which turns out to be his intended destination.

A cloud of smoke billows out from the door as Kira opens it.

“Computer, everyone from here to Bajor is alerted by now, _shut off that damn noise_.” Kira yells, covering her ears. Her hair is blown back, likely a result of the automatic fire suppression system, and she’s covered in brown splatters.

“Everything alright, Major?”

Kira puffs her cheeks and blows out a dejected breath. “Only one casualty: your dinner.”

Ben holds back a sigh -- this was supposed to be a simple meal to prove he wasn’t lonely or lost for companionship. He smiles for Kira’s sake. “Let me help. I’ve been known to work culinary miracles.”

“I think being the Emissary of Bajor makes you the Emissary of Hasperat as well!” Kira laughs. “I promise this--” She waves around at the smoke. “--is not part of a traditional Bajoran cookbook. Even if most of my cooking experience comes from roasting palukoo over open fires.”

Kira waves Ben inside to assess the situation. The vents rattle with the effort of filtering out the airborne particulates of Kira’s failed attempts at cooking, the air already visibly clearing. Ben stifles a cough.

“It’s not too late for us to get replicator food instead.”

Kira looks so dejected at the suggestion that Ben immediately regrets it. “You wanted a home-cooked meal.”

There’s a rush of irritation, biting back at him. Here he is smoothing things over yet again, being the bigger man like he always has to be, ever the diplomat even in his personal life. What would it be like to be petty and emotional for once without regard? For someone to take care of him, soothe his ruffled feathers?

It’s just dinner with a friend. It’s supposed to be fun and easy.

Ben takes a couple deep breaths and smiles. “Never mind then, I’m sure it looks worse than it is. I am the one always saying that you can’t replicate the love and care that goes into fresh food.”

Fifteen minutes and a generous amount of hot sauce later, they’re sitting down at Kira’s table for dinner.

“Again, I am so sorry. You’re supposed to be my guest, but here I’ve roped you into doing all the work.”

“Oh, there was nothing to be done.”

Which is true -- there’s no amount of work even his chef father could do that would resurrect that mess. What was supposed to be a hasperat souffle more closely resembled the Gorgaw Volcano in the Sintra Province of Bajor -- the normally fluffy, spicy dish was instead charred and chewy around the edges with a crater in the center.

Ben chews and chews, his jaw sore from the workout, then finally gives up and swallows a chunk. He raises his fork to attempt another bite, feels weary at the prospect, and pushes around the food on his plate instead.

“Besides it’s about the company, right?” Kira doesn’t seem to be having trouble clearing her plate. Old habits, to eat what’s available and gladly. “I know how close you and Jake are, how strange it must be without him.”

“Mmhmm,” Ben grunts in agreement.

Kira pauses a moment, obviously waiting for Ben to continue the conversation, but now all Ben can think of is Jake (What does he eat for dinner? Does he miss his dad’s cooking? Does Jake even miss him?) and he doesn’t feel like talking about that.

“But you went through a similar thing at his age, right? Joining Starfleet, living away from your family for the first time?”

“I was so homesick I transported home every night for dinner,” Ben says morosely.

“Oh.” Kira clearly is not sure how to respond to that.

Ben’s already dismal mood plummets further. What’s wrong with him, to react to the goodwill of his friends like this? They care about him and are trying their best to cheer him up, so why does it feel like exactly the wrong thing?

Kira clears her throat. “When did you realize Jake wanted to be a writer? Did he always have that creative flair?”

Ben nods. He summons up more of a response. “Ah, yes. Growing up he was never all that interested in cooking, despite our best efforts, dad and me. Sure, he could follow a recipe just fine…” Ben trails off awkwardly.

Kira chuckles, raising a forkful of the sodden eggy mess. “A talent not everyone has, you’ll note.”

“But he has what those trained in engineering or design call ‘feature creep.’ He’d always want to add just one more ingredient, usually something that had no business being in the dish. A dash of cardamom in the jambalaya, creole seasoning in the pancakes, that sort of thing.”

Kira laughs, though Ben knows she can’t relate to his culinary particularity, certainly isn’t familiar with the food in his examples. His cheeks hurt from forcing a smile. It doesn’t matter, or it shouldn’t, but it annoys him anyway, this easy _normal_ social response of hers. That it makes him an asshole to feel this way only annoys him further.

Everyone’s just trying to be his friend. She’s just trying to help. Why does he wish she wouldn’t?

“I remember when he was younger he used that creative flair for pranks. Oh, Odo was always so mad…” Kira says.

“I guess I should have known then he wouldn’t want to follow my footsteps into Starfleet.” Ben can feel how unnatural his attempt at smiling is and drops it. He pushes his food around the plate more, letting the conversation lapse into silence again.

Kira takes the hint -- he can feel her watching his reaction carefully, the way she’s walking on eggshells trying to find the right things to say, and she shouldn’t have to. It’s not her fault the only thing her boss really wants right now is to stew in his funk.

“So I was talking to Blena the other day, the second magistrate of the Skreean colony, and she said…” Kira fills the air with breezy chat, taking the hint.

But he can’t concentrate on her chatter either. He finds himself zoning out completely, and before he realizes it she’s stopped. He looks up from his still full plate to notice she’s clearly expecting a response to whatever she just said. A yes, a no, a noncommittal shrug, _anything_.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, but it’s about time I head back home.”

It’s too early to leave, and it’s obvious that Ben has hardly eaten anything, but he feels exactly like that souffle -- a thermal reaction bubbling beneath his surface that will explode into a destructive mess. A result that no amount of social niceties will make appetizing. And he doesn’t want to do that to Kira, he knows it’s not her fault he’s feeling like this, but he can’t think of what else to do.

“Oh.” Kira glances at her chronometer, somewhat confused, but doesn’t push. “Of course.”

“It’s just that I’m sure Jake has sent a message by now and I’d like to have time to respond.” Jake hadn’t messaged more than a short “hello, bye!” for almost a week, but Ben is pretending he’s fine, that everything’s fine.

“Tell him I said hello. And next time I’ll get it right... or I can let you cook.” She smiles warmly.

Ben smiles back, but it may look more like a grimace. “Sure, maybe.”

He hates that he’s hoping he can avoid a next time.

\---

On the way back to his quarters, Ben turns a corner to find the oversized ear of a colorful man pressed against a hallway wall. The man knocks at the wall a couple times, then moves a meter to the left and tries again.

“Good evening, Quark,” Ben says.

Quark jumps a mile. “Yeesh, it’s rude to sneak up on people.”

“What, lobes too small to hear me coming?”

“I was concentrating.” Quark scowls.

“If you’re looking for the Darruian crystals that were lodged in a disused duct around these parts, Odo confiscated those last week.”

Quark curses under his breath.

“I’m sure the Constable would love to know it’s you who’s stashing illegal goods where any curious toddler banging on walls could happen upon them.”

“I’m sure he would.” Quark sneers, then seems to remember who he’s talking to and effortlessly transitions into an ingratiating tone. “Of course, I would never do such a thing, and for all his bluster, Odo knows that. Must be a coincidence.”

“Uh huh.”

Quark cocks his head, listening to something outside the walls this time.

“Remember our deal, captain?” Quark says. “Fifteen strips. You were going to stop by the bar. Maybe for a nice hasperat wrap?”

“You’ll note I never signed a contract. Besides, I already had dinner.” Ben’s stomach lurches and groans in protest. “And I’ve had enough hasperat for the time being.”

Quark squints in concentration, running a finger down the edge of his lobe. Then he shrugs. “If you say so. Got big plans this evening?”

“Bigger plans than listening to empty walls.” Ben raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Touche.” Quark grins sheepishly. “I’ll take that as a no then. See you later?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ben’s surprised that Quark would drop it so quickly, that he wasn’t threatening him with going to Dr. Bashir again, but he can’t claim to understand what goes on in that strange little man’s mind.

\---

“No new messages,” the computer chimes when Ben asks, back in his quarters.

He sighs. “Computer, start recording. Hey Jake, had dinner with Kira tonight, and you wouldn’t believe the horrible things she did to a hasperat souffle -- wait, stop and delete.” That came out sounding more mean than he intended. “Record. Hey Jake, had a lovely dinner with Kira tonight.” _Don't mention the food._ “We talked about you, your creative and unfortunate way with spices. The way you’re adjusting to independent life so much better than I did at your age --” Ben’s voice chokes up at the end. He sounds lonely, like he’s the one homesick. When did it become so difficult to be himself with his own son? “Delete recording.”

Some time passes as Ben fumbles through a few more attempts, until it dissolves into him yelling at the computer’s suggestions.

His head is in his hands when a sharp beep cuts through his misery.

“Captain Sisko! Open up, I have an opportunity for you.” Quark’s wheedling voice echoes through the door intercom. “You won’t want to miss out on this!”

Ben sighs. “Come in.”

The door swooshes open to reveal not just Quark, but a cart overladen with hot trays. Quark pulls it in, groaning with the effort and taking care not to spill plates of stacked foods. He busily rearranges garnishes, while Ben watches.

“Nice of you to help,” Quark grumbles.

“Nice of you to invite yourself into my private quarters unannounced,” Ben counters. “Did I forget that I’m having a party catered tonight? I’m busy Quark.” Not that Ben feels like continuing his message anymore.

“Like I said, an opportunity.” Quark grins an oily salesman’s grin. “You are the lucky person I’ve chosen to get first tasting rights to my new dinner menu.”

“Lucky me,” Ben deadpans. Savory scents waft into Ben’s nose, and his stomach growls despite himself.

“Unless you’re not hungry?” Quark smirks and taps his ear.

That Quark is able to hear and respond to his customers’ digestion is an oddly uncomfortable revelation. Ben can appreciate the hospitality and customer care that Quark’s profit motive results in, at times, but one’s internal organs should be private.

“Where did all of this come from?” Ben says. “I just saw you in the hall an hour ago.”

Quark squints at him, taps his chronometer. “It’s been two and a half. Besides I’ve been tweaking these recipes for weeks, all it needed was assembly.”

“I can feed myself without unasked for room service,” Ben grumbles.

Quark gasps in mock offense. “I’m not here for your charity _._ Hardly! I’m here to take advantage of your palate. As one chef to another.”

“Fine,” Ben says begrudgingly, but he can’t deny how good everything smells.

“We’re going to play a game. I have here one half replicated food and one half fresh food, and since you’re always yapping about how you can tell the difference, I’m calling your bluff.”

“How does this ‘experiment’ help your bottom line?”

“I can upcharge for fresh food, of course!” Quark ladles some sort of hearty orange stew into an appetizer-sized bowl, and a more brownish-colored one into another, then hands them to Ben. “As long as there’s customer buy-in.”

Ben sniffs them skeptically, noting the differences in consistency and color. It smells too appetizing to be a trick to get him to eat something nefarious, so he digs in.

“This one’s too salty,” he says bluntly. “And whatever root vegetable this is, it’s overcooked. Whoever made it needs to reprogram their replicator. Or throw it out completely.”

“Don’t hold back,” Quark says sardonically. “I need an honest opinion, so no need to spare my feelings.”

Ben takes a few more bites. In truth it’s perfectly edible, but it felt so good to say exactly what he thought in the bluntest terms possible.

He tries the other. “These chunks are nicely tender. Interesting, there’s a spice like cumin but with a sour edge.” Ben chews, concentrating on defining the flavors.

Quark is hanging onto his review, eager to please.

“But it’s underseasoned, lacks depth. This is the non replicated one for sure, but fresh ingredients are no replacement for an inadequate chef.”

Quark’s face falls. Ben is nitpicking, overly harsh, but he’s genuinely having fun. He takes another bite, savoring it.

“I’ve noticed that didn’t stop you from finishing off your bowl, so I’m calling it a win.” Quark punches in some notes on a PADD.

Ben grins. The second stew was actually pretty good and he’s hungrier than he thought. “What are you going to poison me with next? Don’t wimp out now.”

“Very funny.” Quark hands him a tasting portion of two salads, each tossed in a creamy dressing with different crushed nuts on top. One is a mix of vegetables in purples and pinks, and the other has more traditional greens.

Ben digs in. “Tangy, vibrant… underripe. Poor knife skills. And the green one…” Ben crunches away. “Dressing is way too sweet. The chop on the vegetables is very even though, so I’ll guess this is the replicated one. I wouldn’t pay more than a couple slips.”

“Mmhmm, mmhmm.” Quark scowls the whole time, but diligently notes down Ben’s opinions.

They go through this ordeal several more times -- baked squashes with savory fillings; bean cakes with salsas; several wraps. Ben takes the slightest shortcoming of each bite as an excuse to give Quark an earful of insults, and each time grins more easily, unclenches his bunched-up shoulders more. As if he’s expelling all the bottled up emotion that’s been gaining pressure, and replacing it with a decent meal.

Finally, Ben relaxes back into the dining room chair, feeling sated and happy. He hadn’t realized how poorly he’d been eating lately, his diet comprised of replicator snacks between work shifts, not to mention Kira’s debacle, until he’s faced with this buffet.

“Last dish,” Quark says.

“Oh I couldn’t eat another bite...” Ben starts, but Quark sets down two identical-looking red cupcakes. A cherry or strawberry type flavor maybe? Ben inspects them, but can’t find any visual or olfactory differences. “Hmm. Well my father always says ‘if you can’t leave room for dessert, you have no business dining.’ I suppose it won’t hurt.” He takes a large bite.

Quark smirks, running his tongue over his teeth as if this last dish is the equivalent of a couple cards hidden up his bedazzled sleeves.

“These are… hmm.” Ben concentrates. A bite from one, then the other. “These are exactly the same.”

“One half is replicated, I told you the rules.”

“Hah!” Ben shouts and points at Quark in glee. “And when have you not stretched the rules? I’m guessing… the ingredients are fresh, but you programmed the replicator to mix and bake them. Both.”

Quark lets out a stream of untranslated Ferengi cursing. “Fine, you win!”

Ben grins. “Next time I’ll bet money on it.”

“As if next time I’ll let you get away with me feeding you for free.” That there might be a next time, that Ben might even be looking forward to doing this again, having dinner with Quark of all people, is unexpected. But, considering his other hobbies or lack thereof these days, welcome. “Any of your degrading commentary this time? A gram too much sugar? Underbaked by half a degree?”

Ben finishes off the cakes, licking the frosting from the wrapper, but finds he can’t think of a single thing wrong. He shrugs and grins wide and easy. “Nope, perfect. A classic example of using technology to make things better, not just for the sake of it.”

Quark claps a hand to his chest. “A compliment? After a solid half hour of you tearing apart all my hard work? I’m honored.” It doesn’t even sound sarcastic; he sounds genuinely flattered.

“You want honesty, you’ll get it,” Ben says. “What brought this on, anyway? Lonely without Rom and Nog to boss around? Your staff burn their taste buds off with too many Black Holes after hours?”

“I pay my staff to suck up to me, not to tell me the truth,” Quark scoffs, pointedly not addressing Ben’s jab about his family. It occurs to Ben that though Quark probably has the chance to acquaint himself with more people on this station than anyone, he’s positioned himself to have few peers and to alienate himself from those who would be otherwise.

Ben politely changes topics. “Why the sudden interest in fresh food?”

“The Skreeans brought with extra harvest for sale from their new world -- all sorts of novelty products, weird nuts and oddly shaped roots, you know how it is with alien food. So I got a great wholesale deal --”

“Ah so that’s why you’re renting out Cargo Bay 4. Nothing else hidden between crates of flugnams and primquats? You do realize the security team has the prerogative to confirm the veracity of cargo manifests.”

Quark scowls darkly. “You sound like Odo.”

The bitterness with which Quark says that makes him sound like a spurned lover. Ben never did quite know what to make of those two’s odd relationship. “I like to know what’s happening on my station.” He gestures for Quark to continue on with his explanation. “So, you were discussing the business potential of fresh food.”

“Because after all my pleading to _your_ engineering team, they assigned Rom of all idiots to repair my replicator.”

“As I’ve heard, Rom is proving to be an unexpected asset to station maintenance.”

“He’s throwing his life away! But, we were talking about how this affects _me_ \--”

“So I expect during all those years of tuning your holosuites and replicators you paid him well?”

Quark frowns. “I bailed him out of his failed marriage, I bailed him out of taking care of an unwanted kid alone, I bailed him out of numerous failed contracts. _He_ owes _me._ ”

“‘Exploitation begins at home.’” Ben quotes wryly. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be so surprised when he exploits your, ah, ‘generosity’ for his own gains. Emotional welfare is worth more than profit any day.”

Quark scoffs but doesn’t dignify that with a response, continuing with his explanation. “Anyway, none of the other engineers will touch his incomprehensible handiwork -- and I swear the food tastes off now.”

“As much as it pains me to say, I think you’d get along great with my dad.”

“A _hewmon_ ,” Quark says derisively.

“You’re both high-strung, prone to blowing slights out of proportion, stubborn,” Ben lists, grinning at Quark’s deepening frown, “but also discerning, loyal to a fault, compelled to serve others. You hide it, but you care about people. Albeit in your own peculiar way.”

“You think I like to help people? Out of what, the goodness of my heart? That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.” This only makes Quark frown deeper, but Ben thinks deep down he’s touched. Quark hastily packs everything up. “All I’m after is a profitable menu, and all you’ve done this evening is insult me. I hope next time you’ll learn your lesson and won’t be so mean to me.”

“Good evening to you as well, Quark. Come by any time.”

Quark leaves in a dramatic huff, and Ben laughs and laughs.

\---

“How about hitting the ole pigskin around this evening? I’ve been practicing since last time!”

“‘Pigskin’ refers to football, and no thank you. I have these reports to finish up.”

\---

“Hey Benjamin, I hear the Klingon restaurant has a boutique gagh variety I’ve been dying to try. Want to join me? My treat!”

“I appreciate the offer, but tonight’s menu at Chef Sisko’s is eggplant. Maybe another time.”

\---

“Captain, I haven’t seen you around the hydroponics bay recently! I’m teaching Molly to garden this afternoon. She’d love to see you.”

“Ah, I can’t. Check on my peppers if you get a chance though, thanks.”

\---

“Captain Sisko, you know I’m the last person to interfere with your personal life, but as a crew we’ve been talking, and we know you’re having a hard time right now, but you’re not going to feel better stewing on your own --”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m doing _fine!_ Thank you for your concern, Kira, but really I’m fine.”

\---

“Hello, Captain. A little bird told me you’ve been down since that son of yours left the nest. As a hardworking father myself, whose duties and trevails means I spend too much time away from my own offspring --”

“I sure as hell don’t need this from you. _Goodbye_ Dukat.”

\---

“Hey Jake, haven’t heard from you recently. I assume midterms are around now, so I hope you’re studying hard…”

“Hi Jake, you mentioned going out with Ryan, but last I heard you were dating Challa? No wait or were you friends after all? I’m not prying, just trying to keep up with your life…”

“Jake-o, buddy, Grandpa said you went to visit him! Why didn’t you tell me? You said Nog joined you? How’s he doing?”

“Good evening son. No, I’ve got a full social calendar of folks around here to spend time with! No, I’m not using work as an excuse or isolating myself. What are you, a psych major? It’s my solemn duty as a parent to call you too often and try to butt in on your life. Haha. I’m kidding...”

\---

Ben’s not sure how it happens. Well, that’s a lie. He knows exactly how it happened. Rather, he doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone, especially himself.

He spends all day with his crew, putting on the mantle of a strong leader, keeping up station morale in the face of intergalactic politics and challenges. He _likes_ his crew, these people he relies on with his life, this eclectic family who have seen each other through daunting problems both professional and personal. He’s not usually one to wear a mask, or pretend to be one person in one context and another elsewhere.

However.

Any social invitation seems exhausting. He can’t keep up a pleasant friendly social facade, in addition to a professional front in the workplace _and_ a supportive, accommodating front for messages to Jake. One more evening with a well-intentioned coworker doing their best to walk to tiptoe around his moodiness like it’s a sleeping sabre bear would certainly send the wobbly walls of his emotional psyche tumbling down.

Yet there’s one exception.

A person -- he hesitates with “friend” even now -- who doesn’t work for him, and in fact seems to delight in Ben’s newfound abrasive, brooding disposition.

Somehow, several times a week, Quark finds a reason for them to spend time together:

Ben is walking by the bar after work, and Quark cajoles him into staying for one glass of a new vintage of springwine from a prominent family in Kendra Province, you know, the one Ben helped marry last month? It would surely mean a lot to them. And then another equally enticing drink, then another.

Quark swears someone tampered with the odds on his dabo table, but Odo doesn't believe him, and won’t Ben play a few rounds to test it out? It would help keep peace on the station.

Quark bought an Earth sports hologame at an auction and needs Ben’s expertise to find any glitches, so won’t he try it out while Quark takes notes?

Quark gets into the habit of bringing by dinner to Ben’s quarters, saying he ordered delivery, and hey, even if Ben denies it, it’s here anyway and hot, so Ben may as well pay for it regardless. If Quark sticks around for the meal past his welcome, well, Ben doesn’t drive him off. Meals need company, even Quark’s.

Every so-called get together, no matter the ostensible reason, follows a similar pattern: Quark chatters with enough hot air to fill a balloon, poking and prodding at Ben until he snaps from his storm clouds. Ben complains about whatever petty concern Quark is bugging him about, and then finds himself having fun hurling insults back at Quark. Quark pouts and scoffs and huffs in indignation, but this performance all seems secondary to his attraction to Ben’s surliness.

The excuses to go through these ritualistic interactions become more and more tenuous the longer this goes on, until one night Quark shows up with a bottle of Saurian brandy and a more tenuous cover story than usual.

\---

At the beep, Ben opens the door to his quarters, and Quark walks right in without waiting for a hello. Ben steps aside, all habit.

“What do you need from me this time?” Ben groans, but does so as he’s getting out a couple glasses for the brandy, undercutting the implied complaint.

“Huh?” Quark says distractedly, getting cozy on Ben’s couch like it’s his own living room.

“Saurian, small batch, dated 2355...” Ben squints at the label. “What’s the deal -- you need my palate to guess if it’s replicated?”

“Oh right.” Quark holds up the bottle to look at, as if he forgot what he had brought. He shrugs, then grins innocently. “Maybe I wanted company for an expensive, quality nightcap.”

“Odo’s cracking down on false marketing claims again, isn’t he.” Ben settles down next to Quark and pours them each a few fingers. He swirls and sniffs. “Let me guess, subjected to temperatures out of range for optimal storage.”

Quark’s phony grin cracks into a real one. “Good nose! The courier swung by Vulcan during a heat wave and didn’t properly insulate their cargo hold.”

“And now that it’s worthless, you want me to have it. As a symbol of your regard.” Ben raises his glass in a sarcastic toast.

Quark knocks his back in one gulp. He puckers his face and shakes his head, gasping with the burn of the liquor. “Still alcoholic.”

Ben sips at his brandy with a chuckle. It’s clearly off, but no worse than certain vintages of bloodwine that Dax has made him drink. “Before you make your plea, Odo is well within his jurisdiction in enforcing station policies. I’d have to fire him if he didn’t.”

Quark’s face is still puckered, though whether from the brandy or the mention of Odo, it’s unclear. He pours himself another shot and knocks it back, without gasping this time. “After all I do for him, after all this time, he won’t do me one little favor. Some friend he is.”

“And friends help friends skirt the law at risk of their own job, is that it?” Ben whistles. “I don’t know, sounds like charity to me.”

Quark bristles, but doesn’t respond right away. He pours himself another glass. “It’s simple reciprocation. I scratch his warts, he scratches mine. A fair trade.”

“What do you do for him, exactly?”

Quark looks at Ben like he’s a Pakled. “The fellowship of my charming company, _obviously_.”

Ben’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. He takes a sip of brandy to cover his doubt. “Why didn’t I think of that.”

“He’s a lonely man, Captain,” Quark says with odd earnestness. “And his personality isn’t doing him any favors. Grouchy, irritable, moody, petulant --” Quark extends a finger for each descriptor.

“You may as well say the same about me, these days at least.” Ben watches the amber liquid swirl around his glass as he tilts it.

A sly, self-satisfied grin creeps its way onto Quark’s face. “And how many friends do you find yourself surrounded by lately? You see, it’s up to Quark yet again.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to turn a blind eye on station policy,” Ben says, “in exchange for this relentless campaign of yours to pester me any chance you get. From my perspective, one might consider that lose-lose.”

“One might.” Quark’s pointy teeth glint out from between his grinning lips. “Time will tell.”

They sip at the brandy in companionable silence. A pleasant warmth and looseness falls over Ben. He’s not sure why he’s so compelled to react to Quark the way he does, what it is about Quark that invokes this need in Ben to snipe back at him. He wonders if Quark is deliberately wielding his obnoxiousness as a tool, to make Ben fulfill a particular role that Quark craves in this strange friendship. Maybe Quark just doesn’t know how to connect with him otherwise. Ben’s not really sure how they got here, but he finds that in this moment he doesn’t really mind.

“What’s it like to have a dead wife?” Quark asks, shattering the moment.

Ben chokes on his brandy and spends some time coughing before answering. “Ask your brother. Or mother. Or anyone else.”

“Rom? Oh, Prinadora’s still alive. That’s how her dad got all Rom’s money,” Quark says bitterly. Old wounds.

Ben jumps on the chance to guide the conversation away from himself. “Is that better or worse than if she had died?”

Quark shrugs. “Way I see it, it’s a betrayal either way. You agree to the terms of a contract and the other party exploits a loophole to get out prematurely.”

Ben snorts.

A betrayal… He can’t deny that yes actually he has felt betrayed by Jennifer’s death. Their vows had included “til death due us part” and all, but despite the hazards of a Starfleet life, it seemed implied that this was a distant eventuality. They married expecting to live long lives together and had made plans based on this apparent certainty. What was a contract, but terms of agreement laying out future expectations?

How else was he supposed to feel, when faced with the discongruence between what should have been and what is?

What would Jennifer think of him now?

“Seems to have worked out for the best for Rom -- he’s got a job he enjoys and met the love of his life.”

Quark rolls his eyes. “He’s a penniless maintenance worker dating a penniless Bajoran.”

“You’re a bitter bartender whose love life is as limited as his profit margins, and who spends his free time chasing after emotionally unavailable men. Stones and glass houses, as they say.”

“It’s -- but -- that’s not --” Quark fumes. “Who said anything about ‘unavailable’? And oh the things I could say about _you_ \--”

“I’m perfectly aware.” Ben sinks down deeper into the sofa. He pours more brandy in both their glasses. “But I haven’t kicked you out have I? Don’t test me. How about a toast?”

Quark narrows his eyes. “Okay…”

“To being left behind and dealing with it poorly.” Ben clinks Quark’s glass with his.

“Speak for yourself,” Quark mumbles but takes his drink regardless.

A couple beats in which they bask in a warm alcoholic stupor. At some point, the distance between them on the sofa has shrunk. Quark isn’t quite cuddled up on Ben, but he’s still one bump of mild space turbulence away from ending up in his lap. Ben doesn’t shift over.

Quark isn’t capable of brooding in silence or letting a moment linger, however. “Speaking of dabo girls…”

“When were we --?”

“Leeta. We were talking about Rom, and --”

“Fine, just get on with it.”

“ _Speaking_ of dabo girls and the visual titillation they provide and the fact that they’re only one element of my overall business plan to make Quark’s Bar and Grill _the_ place for pleasure, relaxation, indulgence…”

“Truly a visionary. A bar as a place of indulgence? Revolutionary!”

Quark scowls but continues. “Another key element of this plan, of course, being the holosuites and my wide collection of perversity for all appetites and flavors.” Quark pauses, as if waiting for Ben to catch on. “ _All_ appetites. Even station captains’.”

“Is that so.” Some things are meant to be private.

“It took some digging, but I found out your dirty secret.”

Ben wants to wipe that smug look off Quark’s face, but he has no idea what he could be referring to. “I sincerely doubt it. I don’t have any.”

“Really? You know… As a man who appreciates hygienic food handling, I’m _appalled._ ”

Ben knows he shouldn’t bite, but can’t help asking, “Appalled at what?”

“That you would enjoy watching women sit on desserts like seat cushions, nude or not. Disgusting!”

“No that’s not -- It’s not like that at all, it’s --”

“What’s next, sticking your dick in soup?”

“What? No, no -- okay fine. So you have a nice round… butt,” Ben gestures, the heat rising in his cheeks. “And then you have a decadent cake, one that someone spent all day baking and frosting and decorating… And then…” Ben claps his hands together in demonstration. “A brief fascination, oh over a decade ago… _Not_ something I want a holoprogram about.”

“Uh huh. It’s always the most dignified ones that hide the deepest perversity.”

“How did you find that out anyway? I haven’t even thought about that in _years_ \--”

“I promised not to disclose my source, on the honor of her spots --”

“ _Dax_.” Ben curses. “I told Curzon that in confidence! He was as nosy as you are.”

“I’m disappointed, honestly,” Quark says although his smugness says otherwise. “It’s blase, compared to the wide wonderful world of porn that’s out there. I know the selection. Intimately.” Quark winks.

“That may be the case, but...” Ben wants to be careful not to say something that would spur Quark to share more about the selection. He rubs his goatee, thoughtful. “I'm betting what you're really into, not as novelty or to keep up your image as this station’s sleaziest gremlin --”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” Not that he’s ever heard the word gremlin before.

“--but what you actually, you know, get off to is something… sweet. Wholesome, even.”

“ _Slander_.”

Ben, the warm comforting flow of the brandy easing the way, leans in close to Quark’s ear. Quark shrinks a little in his seat, eyeing Ben suspiciously.

Ben pitches his voice low and lets each word undulate from his mouth like a puff of heavy smoke, deeply resonant, rumbling. “I bet that all you truly want is some lengthy foreplay, each touch slow and deliberate, teasing what’s to come but never quite getting there --”

“Really, captain that’s -- ridiculous -- depraved -- is that what you think of me?” Quark sputters, his indignance (not to mention the way his face has blushed bright orange) saying otherwise.

“Your partner kissing you, _just_ kissing you. Lips to lips, almost chaste in execution except for how it’s making you feel --”

“That’s -- that’s --” but Quark seems to have lost any semblance of coherence. He shudders and gasps with each fluctuation in tone.

“Forget Vulcan sex slaves or the Goddess of Rixx or any of your filthy holoprograms-- all you need is the slightest hint of attention and you’ll combust. Then afterwards, someone holding you close, sharing the moment...” Ben switches abruptly to a normal tone of voice, overly loud. “Isn’t that right?”

Quark winces and hisses.

“What, got yourself a case of blue lobes?” Ben teases. “All I did was talk. You’re a Telvian nun.”

“Keep going please,” Quark pouts, distinctly put out. “You were finally fun for once! After all our time together, my investment was finally paying off.”

Ben laughs. He’s having fun. Perhaps it’s time to turn the tables. “You asked about mine, so it’s only fair -- What about you? Why do you spend all your time aggravating Odo? Why not put that energy into finding the perfect Ferengi wife you’re always talking about?”

Quark scowls. “All females are on Ferenginar, under their fathers’ care.”

“That distance must make it hard to meet a girl, see if you can connect.”

“That’s hewmon talk. Marriage is about negotiating a contract and making sure you come out on top.” Quark hesitates, then whispers, “Maybe I -- maybe I don’t want a wife.”

“Hmm. I can relate.” Ben hums.

No one can replace Jennifer. She wouldn’t want him to be alone, but he doesn’t see how he could invite someone else into his life like that, knowing he might lose them, the change that they might only ever remind him of what he already lost. There aren’t do-overs in life, and it’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on someone. Maybe he’ll get to that point someday, but he’s not there yet.

“Not a traditional one.” Quark’s voice raises, slurring words, becoming almost hysterical in his defensiveness. “Maybe that makes me a hypocrite! A bad Ferengi! Well maybe I’m doing just fine on my own, all alone! No family to leech off my profit, no one nagging me about this or that, no one to --”

“No one to share a meal and a kiss with at the end of the long day.” Ben says. He scoots towards Quark, closing that small gap between them. Quark is so warm nestled against him, and it’s cozy despite how Quark is gesticulating wildly in his distress. Ben feels good. This is good.

Ben drapes his arm around the back of the couch, then down around Quark’s shoulders. It catches Quark in closer. Their faces are so close. He can smell the brandy on Quark’s breath, the musk of it, and he thinks --

What if.

The kiss is warm and wet and strange -- those sharp teeth pressed under the lip -- and Ben pulls back as soon as he realizes what he’s done. Quark’s face is oddly unguarded, shiny with wetness on his cheeks, his wide eyes, his open parted lips.

“I’m not going to be your wife,” Quark says, panting.

Laughter bubbles up from within Ben -- not the polite chuckles or faux cheerfulness that he conjures for everyone else these days, but the type of deep belly laughter that he couldn’t suppress if he tried.

“And I’m _not_ going to sit on a cake for you.” Quark takes a moment to reconsider. “Not for anything less than a bar of latinum.”

Something inside Ben breaks loose. Some wall he didn’t realize he had constructed around himself, one he’d been skinning his elbows on as it moves in around him closer and closer, comes crumbling down.

He hasn’t laughed this hard in weeks, because he hasn’t had this much fun in weeks. He feels slightly unhinged, almost dizzy from it.

Letting out one last wild guffaw, he pulls Quark’s incredulous face against his own for more.

Quark makes a sort of breathy groan and fists his hands into Ben’s shirt to keep him close. Ben sinks into him, pushing Quark down into the sofa cushion, pinning him down. Their mouths are uncoordinated but eager, and it feels good. It feels _good_.

Jake’s off having the time of his life with all his new found freedoms. Every day he’s testing the boundaries of youth, getting to know unexpected people, and learning more about himself. Ben had categorized that as strictly a teenage endeavor, part of growing up but now he realizes -- any big change in life requires growing up more and discovering something new about oneself. Ben’s had far too many big changes in his life, but there’s no reason all change has to be so serious, so emotionally heavy.

Jake’s having his carefree fun. Maybe Ben’s allowed that too. Maybe this is an opportunity for him as well.

Quark, for his part, is small and squirmy and _loud._ He’s nothing like any of Ben’s short-lived couplings at the Academy, nothing like those ill-conceived trips to Risa with Curzon, nothing like Fenna. Nothing like Jennifer. This is a wholly new, ridiculous experience that he will probably regret in the morning, but there’s only one way to find out.

Ben Sisko has spent his life either looking into the future rising through Starfleet ranks, or looking back to the past at the events of Wolf 359.

Maybe sometimes it’s healthy to look only to the right now.

Quark writhes against him, gasps noisily as Ben kisses at his ear. Each twitch and groan he makes are in reaction to Ben. It’s all Ben’s doing. It’s thrilling. He kisses harder. Maybe what Ben needed all this time was a little human -- well, humanoid -- connection. Acting and reacting and adjusting to your partner’s reaction in a causal loop. Losing himself in physicality.

Quark has on about four layers with several of his more ornate coat buttons digging into Ben’s thin undershirt. Making out is one thing, and Ben’s never been one to rush into an affair, but he’s also not without his impulsive moments…

Quark lets out a breathy groan and bucks against Ben. Ben realizes he has paused with his consideration of whether to progress.

A flash of what could come: hot slick skin sliding against each other; exploring each others’ bodies; the rush, the thrill, the need. It’s been so long for Ben, or at least it feels that way.

This flash of future superimposes itself onto memories of Quark: their first interactions and how Ben had to blackmail him into staying; a series of wronged women slapping Quark over the years; his whining and grousing throughout their ill-fated trip encountering the Jem’Hadar; every lewd comment and snake oil salesman grin and ingratiating compliment…

The past, present, and future all exist in one moment. There is no present that exists without the context of the past or the expectations of the future.

Quark’s unrelenting obnoxiousness and nuisance over the years, combined with the odd pseudo (or genuine?) friendship they’ve fallen into over the past weeks, juxtaposed with this off kilter unexpected sexy present -- these clashing perspectives are almost too much for Ben to handle.

It’s like a Prophet’s vision, except instead of informing him of his destiny or confronting his trauma, it’s about sex. With Quark.

The thought is a sonic shower on maximum frequency. Ben can feel himself sobering up, not from the alcohol which has sustained a light pleasant buzz, but as if from the fog of grumpiness and loneliness that has clouded his mind recently.

“Red alert Captain Sisko,” Quark says, his voice dripping with sex. He raises a hand to his own ears to stroke and makes lewd little gasps between words. “FMS Big Lobes is up and ready, Captain. Time to blast my warp core.”

Ben grimaces. “Is that dirty talk?”

“Depends, are you into it?”

Ben’s body hasn’t quite caught up to his head. His blood pumps, his nerves sizzle, and he has all the vital signs of someone strong and alive. He lifts himself off Quark, not sure where to go from here.

“It was just getting good.” Quark’s pout wastes no time in mutating into a sultry gaze. He undoes his top shirt button, making hooded eye contact with Ben. “Unless you want to move to the bedroom?”

What is Ben doing?

“No -- well, I don’t know --”

“Okay okay, ‘I don’t know’ I can work with. What if instead we --”

 _Bee-deep_ of his communicator. Instant relief. Ben straightens up, an automatic transition to captain mode. “Yes, what is it?”

“Tell them you’re off-duty,” Quark stage-whispers, gripping Ben’s forearm desperately.

“ _Shh_.”

 _Bee-deep_. “Incoming call from Jake Sisko, Pennington School, Earth.”

Ben lights up. “Computer, answer the call in thirty seconds.” He fumbles around, clearing the brandy bottle and cups from view. He smooths his shirt. He takes a moment to assess his sobriety -- buzzed but not impaired.

“Uh, I can come back in a bit? Or…” Quark gestures, head cocked in inquiry. He’s not only standing up, but already halfway out the door. His face is still flushed and dazed, his layers rumpled from Ben pushing himself atop him.

Ben does a double take; in fact he had forgotten about Quark completely. The quickness with which Quark is ready to leave -- no argument, no further whinging, no inappropriate commentary -- tugs at something in Ben. Gratitude? Hesitation? He gets the feeling that Quark’s reaction is specifically because it’s _Jake_ that’s calling.

Jake’s beaming face fills the view screen. “Hey dad!”

Ben shakes it off and waves a hand at Quark -- a combination of “goodbye” and “please leave”. Without another word, there’s a swoosh of the doors, and Ben beams back at Jake. “Jake-o! Buddy!”

Jake swivels in the direction of Ben’s door even though it’s offscreen from him. “Do you have company? Is this a bad time?”

“No, they were just leaving.”

“Isn’t it like twenty-four hundred hours there?”

Ben does some quick math in his head. “And early evening in New Zealand, is that right?”

“Sorry to be calling so late station time, but --”

“Never too late for you, Jake. It was, uh, a late night dinner, lost track of time. I’ve got a busy social life,” Ben says wryly.

“Oh!” Jake smirks. “Okay. I see how it is -- I leave and there’s no kid around cramping your style anymore. No need to worry about waking me with late night guests.”

“Ja-ake,” Ben elongates the name, rolls his eyes. “This is your father you’re talking to. It was dinner and a drink with a friend. But never mind, I want to hear what _you’re_ up to --”

“A friend, huh?” Jake is still smirking, like it’s the funniest thing in the world for him to have possibly caught his dad out on a date. “Is it that freighter captain I talked to you about? Because I can call back --”

“ _No_ ,” Ben says, a little more forcefully than intended. He takes a breath, relaxes, allows himself a dismissive chuckle. “It was just Quark. Now, about _you_ \--”

“Quark!” Jake erupts into laughter. Boy it’s good to see his son, even if he’s laughing _at_ his dad. “If you’re going to lie, at least make it a good one! Wait til I tell Nog.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Really, you’re hanging out with Quark now? Since when?” Jake arcs an eyebrow, finding this whole situation highly amusing.

“Oh, you know, I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands now. Not having to pick up after you all day, or nag you about doing your homework, or make sure you’re staying out of trouble...” Ben jokes. “Now to what do I owe the honor of your call?”

Ben isn’t sure how to explain what’s been going on, why of all people Quark has become the only one he spends time with. How he genuinely enjoys Quark’s company, bizarre as the little man is. Quark has become his closest friend, although Ben doesn’t know how to explain this without also revealing what a funk he’s in.

“Haha. Okay, fine don’t tell me who your ‘guest’ was. I’m good. Fine.” Jake’s smirk wavers, his expression softening so Ben is reminded how young he is. Not that Ben ever really forgets -- Jake may be a man now, but Ben will always see the small boy Jake used to be, peeking through. “Can’t a son call his dad in the middle of the night for no reason?”

“Sure,” Ben says easily. Jake fiddles with something in his hands, hesitant. Ben can’t make out what it is. “Sure, a son can call any time, night or day, just to say hi or check in... But I have an inkling that you’re calling about something more than that.”

“Maybe.” Jake shrugs. He’s contemplating the small object in his hands, which glints and flashes between his fingers. “When you have a big decision to make… something life-changing, one that will change things… how do you know if it’s the right one?”

“First semester at college and you’re already going through an existential crisis?” Ben tries to lighten the sudden mood shift; his son looks far too serious for his youth. Jake gives a half-smile in appreciation, but waits for Ben to give a real answer. “Depends on the decision. Sometimes you just know. Like going to Pennington -- you had some hesitations beforehand, like when we sailed together remember, but in the end you told me you knew that this is where you were meant to be.”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s true.” Jake relaxes a little. He clasps his hand around the object, obscuring it completely. He thinks a little more, then brightens up further. “That’s what you always said about Mom, isn’t it? That you just knew?”

“Sure.” Ben still has no idea what this is about, but takes care to give Jake space, to let him guide the conversation without Ben prying too much. “We met at a friend’s party, had a date on the beach the day after… Married a mere couple months later.” Ben chuckles. “Your grandpa was so mad, said I hardly knew her and how could I rush into such an important decision. But, like I said, I _knew_. We Sisko men can be an impulsive, passionate bunch -- and stubborn. ‘Cause I was right.”

Of course, Joseph had also told him about how he had married Ben’s mother not long after meeting her, just for her to abandon them once Ben was born. A warning. Ben had never regretted his and Jennifer’s passion, though, not even with how it ended. He doesn’t say any of this to Jake.

“Right…” Jake deflates a bit. “What if… it’s something you _didn’t_ know right away, because for a long long time you always assumed it was something else, and then one day you realize it’s -- a different thing? And you can’t go back to the first thing because you can’t shake off how you feel now. So maybe you always secretly knew, but now you _know-_ know. Ya know?”

Ben decidedly does not. This conversation needs to be more concrete. “Is this about…” Ben racks his head for one of the names Jake has mentioned, all of them only in passing. “Challa?”

“Challa?” Jake screws up his face. “What? No.”

“Phew. Because despite what I just said, a couple months is _not_ a long time before proposing. And you’re so young.”

“Uuhh, we’re definitely just friends...”

“Is it about your career path then? You can do whatever you set your mind to, I believe that. As long as you’re not joining the Maquis.” He laughs, then cuts off abruptly into a serious tone. “You are not allowed to join the Maquis.”

“No, dad --”

“Jaaaaake... We’re late! Our reservations are for six, not six oh three,” A familiar voice calls from off camera.

“Coming!” Jake calls back. He pockets the object from his hand.

It takes a beat for Ben to recognize the voice. “Is that… Nog?”

“Sorry dad! Gotta go. This was helpful, thank you.” Jake starts rustling around for a scarf and jacket as they finish out the call.

“Jake -- tell me about this later, promise? And don’t join any rebellions without asking me first.” He’s only half-joking. “No matter how slick the recruiting speech.”

“Yeah yeah, talk to you later, love you, bye!” Jake hastily responds, and the holocall terminates.

“Huh!” Ben exclaims to the empty room. “I wonder what that was about.”

One thing he does know -- his son called him. He’s a father no matter what, and his son sought him out for his advice.

He chuckles, feeling warm and happy, almost giddy. His son still needs him.

_\---_

Ben whistles to himself as he walks down the Promenade the next morning. He awoke to his first alarm feeling refreshed, there’s a new bounce in his step, and even with the dim Cardassian lighting the station seems brighter today. Over breakfast, he breezed through a chapter of the Bajoran history book, his attention focused and engaged with deciphering various interpretations of the prophecies and the Vedek’s ongoing restoration projects.

A spell has been broken, and for the first time in forever he feels like himself again.

He stops whistling as he approaches the bar, footsteps slowing. He never actually sought out Quark himself, in their recent interactions -- it’s always been Quark tracking him down, taking the initiative in their odd little relationship. After a moment of consideration, he enters with a sudden plan in mind.

Quark is engaged with a conversation on a viewscreen. Ben is at the wrong angle to see who the other party is, but Quark is clearly distressed.

“That’s absurd! This has to be a joke. You didn’t sign any contract yet did you? ...Phew. The one time I’m glad about how naive hewmons can be. You still have time to walk away, and come to your senses-- what do you mean you don’t want to? First Starfleet and now --” Quark notices Ben and hisses at the screen, “I have to go, but we are not finished discussing this!”

Quark shuts it off with a scowl that could depress a Vulcan. “What are _you_ doing here? Haven’t you done enough damage?” he sneers.

“Good morning to you too.” Ben is taken off-guard by the hostility, but perhaps Quark is bitter about how their evening ended. He expected to have to ward off Quark’s prurience.

Quark hisses and shakes his head. “Don’t patronize me. You hewmons and all the insidious ways you’ve corrupted my only nephew, it’s reprehensible.”

Ben lights up. “Oh, was that Nog on the call? How’s he doing? I’ve asked Jake, but he’s been tight-lipped recently.”

“Apparently Nog’s set on hitching his quantum wagon to your starship for life,” Quark says, with the bite of a razor-backed greeworm. “Unless you’re going to talk him out of it.”

“Starfleet? He’s enjoying the Academy that much, is he?”

“That’s not all he’s --”

“Nog will always be Ferengi, and if it’s any consolation to you, I think he may end up changing Starfleet more than the other way around. For the better. That kid can do anything he sets his mind to, and he gets that tenaciousness from you. Any human -- or Vulcan or Andorian or anyone -- is lucky to have him around. All you can do is give him advice and let him make his own decisions. ‘Home is where the heart is, but the stars are made of latinum,’ isn’t that one of your Rules?”

Quark folds his arms across chest and looks away. He keeps his scowl, but it softens slightly. “I guess if he was always going to get mixed up with hewmons, you Siskos aren’t the worst ones.”

“Good. Quark, I stopped by to thank you for your company lately. I haven’t been fun to be around, not for most people anyway, so I really appreciate…” Ben grins. “How much of a nuisance you make of yourself. I mean that sincerely. Your, ah, generosity of spirit is much appreciated.”

“It’s only because I required your labor, and you’re too stupid to ask for latinum, hewmon,” Quark protests, but it’s half-hearted.

Ben grins wider. “What I’m trying to say is: I appreciate your friendship, and I want to do something for you in exchange.”

“Exchange, I like exchange.” Quark perks up a bit. “How about we pick up where we left off last night.”

“Ah, no I had something else in mind. You’ve been bringing all the food and drink and entertainment to me -- so I would like to cook for you sometime.” Ben pauses. “I haven’t cooked for anyone since Jake left. It would mean a lot to me.”

Quark gets an awkward look on his face, like he ate bad grubworms and is trying to figure out how best to spit them out. “Are you trying to _woo_ me? As much as it pains me to say, I don’t think that’s such a good idea considering, you know, our mutual future, and to be frank -- this upbeat, sentimental version of you turns me off. It just wouldn’t work, romantically.” He pauses. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a roll in the sack on, say, alternating weekdays. We’ll be discreet -- they won’t know.”

“Hah!” Ben exclaims. It seems clear Quark has not had much practice in turning down romantic prospects. He’s also not sure what “future” Quark is referring to -- maybe Quark’s holding out hope he’ll want a traditional Ferengi wife someday? -- or who Quark wouldn’t want knowing about them. But dinner together isn’t a marriage proposal, and Ben isn’t embarrassed. Better reassure him of his intentions. “Like I said, I did enjoy last night, but I want to establish the boundaries of our friendship as, ah, friends.”

“So that’s a no to the occasional ‘bump in the night’ together? Or midday, I’m not picky.”

“That’s a definite no.” Ben adds quickly, “Not that you’re not attractive in your own acquired way or that you won’t make some grumpy, emotionally intransigent person very happy one day --”

“It’s because I wouldn’t do the cake thing isn’t it. Well a man has to have limits.” Quark groans, then sticks out his hand. “Alright, you have a deal. I’ll come over for dinner sometime to complain about _your_ cooking for a change. Might as well get used to Sisko family dinners now. But I’m not going to stop trying to talk Nog out of it.”

“Nog also gets his stubbornness from you.” Ben grins wide. He takes Quark’s hand with both of his, and shakes. “It’s a deal.”

\---

Outside the bar, Ben passes by Odo on his daily rounds.

“Stopping by Quark’s at this time of day? That’s out of habit… Is that rude little man causing trouble already?”

“Not at all, Constable,” Ben says with such intensity that Odo stops in his tracks. “In fact, you’d be surprised. I know that you’re not likely to believe anything that comes out of Quark’s mouth, for good reason, but Constable -- he holds your company in high regard. I might suggest you try acknowledging his friendship on occasion, perhaps even reciprocating when he attempts to connect with you… I think you’d both benefit.”

“Friends? With him? Hmph.”

“Worst case scenario is you confuse him. Might keep him on his toes.” Ben winks.

Odo scoffs.

As Ben walks away, Odo turns to gaze into the bar. His face softens.

\---

An incoming call is waiting for Ben as he enters the office.

“Jake, so good to hear from you again. Two live calls in two days! It’s not even my birthday. How are you doing with that decision you asked me about last night?”

“Dad! Hey, I’ve got great news about that.” Jake’s face is practically glowing with happiness, his grin so wide it makes Ben’s cheeks hurt in sympathy. It must be before dawn where Jake is, which means this is so big he can’t wait. Jake takes a big breath, and before Ben can respond, blurts out, “I popped the question over root beer floats after dinner. Nog and I are getting married!”

Silence. Ben rewinds in his mind what Jake just said, replays it. It doesn't make any more sense than it did before. “To each other? Nog? Our Nog? The Nog we both know?”

“Yeah dad,” Jake laughs. “What other Nog is there?”

This should be great news. Ben’s chest feels tight, like the walls are closing in on him. “You guys are buddies. Since when have you even dated? Why didn’t I know?”

“We spent so many days apart, meeting new people at school, going on dates with others -- and then...” Jake shrugs as if it’s an obvious progression from there. Ben can’t process any of this. “No one else I met was Nog, and I remembered why we were such good friends. So we’ve been saving up our transporter credits to see each other, staying up talking at night about our classes and life and everything… We met up to see Grandpa in New Orleans, had a great time, and I really started to think about how much he means to me, like _really_ think about it --”

“Why didn’t I know?” Ben repeats. Yesterday Jake was still in diapers, and tomorrow he’ll be having kids of his own. It’s too much too quickly. His heart beats faster. “Jake, why don’t I know what’s going on in your life? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jake is taken completely off-guard. Ben doesn’t want to be the reason Jake’s happy moment is ruined, but the moment has gotten out of control

“Dad, I’m telling you now. You’re the first person I wanted to tell! Nog and I came up with an elaborate plan to throw Yolo off so they wouldn’t ask -- they are _so_ nosy it’s kind of a problem -- and… Dad. Hey...” Jake says slowly, gently, making careful eye contact through the screen. “This is a good thing. Right?”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Ben puts his head in his hands, trying to unravel why he’s reacting like this. It’s not Jake’s fault. It’s not -- well. He snaps his head back up and slips into his commander voice without thinking. “Jake, we need to have a simultaneous transmission to talk, twice a week, minimum half an hour, undivided attention.”

“Dad…” Jake goes through a face journey of thinking it’s a joke, then confusion, before finally settling on defensiveness. He folds his arms over his chest. “You no longer trust me, and you want to check up on me is that it? I thought you warmed up to Nog! You sponsored his Starfleet application!”

“No, that’s not -- of course I like Nog.”

“Like it’s okay if Nog and I are friends, but it’s wrong for me to want to marry him?”

“Jake, Jake. That’s not it, not at all. I came at this the wrong way.” Ben rubs his face. “Listen. I’m proud of the man you are becoming, and of course I’m happy for you and Nog. You’ve been devoted to each other for years, so as unexpected as this is, maybe it shouldn't be. I know you’ll be a great couple.”

“Oh. But...”

“But you need to _talk to me_ , check in with me for more than thirty seconds of contextless references I don’t understand on voicemail every now and then. I need --”

“I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. I’m doing _fine_ living on my own.”

“You _are_ doing fine on your own. More than fine -- incredible even!”

“Then why --”

Ben cuts him off with a small, self-deprecating laugh. He smiles at his smart, self-possessed, grown-up son. “But _I’m_ not. I’m not fine. I want you to call for my sake, not as punishment or because I don’t trust you.”

Jake blinks in confusion. “Oh. But --”

“But I’m your dad and that means I’m invincible?” Ben smiles sadly. “We both know that’s not true. I didn’t expect this to be so hard for me either, but for years it’s been you and me, the two of us together. Even after...”

Ben trails off, doesn’t mention her. Jake nods, understanding a little better now.

“Your happiness and success are my greatest joy Jake. You and me, together in the face of the universe’s challenges... This is a big transition, and though I wouldn’t want it any other way, I miss you. I’m afraid of you growing up too much without me. That’s all.” Ben lets out a low whistle. “My little boy, getting married.”

“Dad...” Jake’s face crumples with emotion. There’s a small furrow in the middle of Jake’s brow that reminds Ben of his dad Joseph -- the Sisko men, connected through time and love no matter the distance. Ben’s arms ache as he longs to hug his son. “You’re not losing me. You’ll always be my dad.”

“I know. I know, my son.”

“It’s… it’s been one thing after another, and to be honest I wanted Nog and me to sort out how we felt about each other before telling anyone, but also I think maybe… I think I was keeping so busy because I was afraid that if I stopped to take a breath to talk to you for too long I’d -- I don’t know, that I’d realize I shouldn’t be here, and I’d give up on my dreams to go home or something.” Jake rubs his neck and looks away, abashed. “I’m sorry.”

Home, meaning DS9. Home, meaning where Ben is. How much longer will that definition hold?

“No, I’m sorry for pretending everything was fine. I want us to be honest with each other.” Ben allows himself to tear up, the emotion he’s been holding back since Jake left. He lets them fall for a few moments.

Jake nods vigorously, his own eyes welling up.

Abruptly, Ben wipes away the tears. He breaks out into a beaming smile, his whole being lighting up with joy. “Now about this wedding -- where will it be? Do you have a date yet? You know your grandpa will kill you if you don't let him cater. And don’t even _think_ of eloping young man -- this has to be a celebration to remember. What about Nog’s family, will they want --”

Ben cuts off, dazed. So much of his conversation at the bar earlier suddenly makes sense now. “Quark is going to be our in-law.”

Jake laughs at Ben’s struck expression, even though he doesn’t know the half of it. “I thought you were dinner buddies,” Jake teases.

“He’ll be at every family get-together, complaining about every little thing and hawking his ‘deal’ of the week, from here on out.” Ben frowns.

“Can you imagine him interacting with Grandpa? There’s going to be war over that catering job.” Jake is almost doubled over with hilarity.

“Quark’s got another thing coming for him! Your grandpa can out-stubborn Vulcans.” Despite himself, Ben joins in the reverie. All things considered, he has to admit -- it’s a pretty funny twist of events.

He supposes he won’t mind so much.

\---

“Vedek Sira, hello; it’s Captain Benjamin Sisko of DS9… Yes, that Sisko. I’ve been reading your book… Oh, no, it’s very well-written! I’ve found it fascinating… Thank you, that’s flattering but perhaps unfounded… Anyway, I was wondering if you were available to give a tour of the Ohalu ruins at some point? I’d also like to indulge in your patience with a couple theories I have about how the ressurected Temple will be built, if it’s not too much trouble… Yes, yes, I’m in the market for a hands-on project...”

\---

“Keiko, hello! I’d like to pick your brain sometime about what kind of wedding flowers I could grow in the hydroponics bay. There are a couple Ferengi varieties that would cost an arm and a leg to buy planetside…”

\---

“No Dukat, unless this is about urgent sector politics, or perhaps, say, you’re initiating a Bajoran Occupation reparations fund… No, that isn’t it? Then I never want to talk to you. Goodbye.”

\---

“Welcome to Baseball 101 for all ages and skill levels. Normally you call me Captain, but today you’ll call me Coach! Thanks so much for your interest and willingness to learn this obscure, _wonderful_ sport. Today we’ll be doing a series of drills…”

\---

“Thank you all so much for coming to my family dinner tonight -- because this crew is family. Special thanks to Quark for brokering the fresh foods I used to cook everything, and for being my sous chef in the kitchen, albeit for a hefty fee. In exchange I promised not to reveal that underneath that conniving greedy exterior, he has an oddly sensitive heart, and that he’s been a good friend to me when I needed one. Ha hah! Don’t give me that look, Quark, you’d better get used to this -- we’re going to be brothers-in-law!”

\---

“Jake, you keep mentioning this freighter captain you think I’ll like. Maybe I’m ready to meet someone new…”


End file.
